Love in the Company of Death
by Mr. Eglimore
Summary: A complex built by InGen still remains, clinging to its former glory. Its purpose has become dark. The final residents will use any means necessary to profit from the island's inhabitants. However, a woman working previously in the herbivore ward of the complex, is suddenly thrown into the midst of the demented scientists of the carnivore ward. Where she meets a reptilian friend.
1. Chapter 1

She wept. Deep in the jungle, her head against a mossy tree, she wept for them, the creatures they took, whisked them away to the complex. She had ran for a long while but it still loomed on the horizon, dark and foreboding. A symbol of the crime it housed. How ever long or far she ran she could not escape it. If she could not see its dark shape staining the landscape then she could feel its ominous presence. It may as well have been covered in blood, for it was already, in her mind. She could never escape it for long, after all, she did work there.

She walked through the revolving doors after her journey back. They should have been covered in blood as well. They were to her. Why couldn't the rest of them see the place the way she could? She walked up to the main desk, it was gray, like everything else here. No color at all, save for the crimson she painted it in with her mind.  
"Transfer 1576," she said to the woman at the desk. The woman gestured to the left of the room, absentmindedly, never looking up from her magazine.  
She followed the direction indicated by the receptionist, leading her down a long corridor, to a door marked R1576. She opened the door, and was greeted by a balding man staring at a monitor.

"Where from?" he asked. She stood silent, not sure if the question was directed to her. "What was your previous sector?" the man repeated, looking slightly annoyed.  
"5219." said she.

"Oh! You're in for a treat!" exclaimed the man, smiling devilishly. The man opened a heavy metal door in the corner of the room. He motioned for her to walk through, still smiling. She was unsure about trusting him, but she knew she had no other choice. She slowly walked through the door. Giving the man a look of malice.

Blackness, pure and unfaltering. The light from the still open door was her only refuge, as she stood in the middle of the chamber, after walking a short distance. And after a sly smile from the balding bespectacled man, even that was extinguished. Five long, agonizing minutes passed in this manner. At least she thought it was five. Her perception of time could not be trusted in this environment, and even less could this institution and its workers. Though, maybe this eccentric balding man was not a reasonable basis for comparison. After a few more foggy minutes, blinding white lights shot up from spotlights on the floor. She staggered backward and fell to her knees on the black, cold floor. She rightened herself, embarrassed. Her boots made an audible clacking.

A voice form nowhere called out her name. The voice seemed to pulse from the walls and floor, and had no clear source. A doorway appeared next to her out of the wall, and a man led her inside.

She understood now, she was in a laboratory, The black room's purpose was to examine reactions given when the animals were exposed to stimuli, and in some cases no stimuli at all. She had definitely heard of these places. How could she not? They were all some of the men could talk about. She had never actually seen one of these speciality labs before, certainly not in the H-Ward. This was very new. The young man who led her into the lab was named Paul. He was essentially her boss, or as close to a boss as one could have here, for most, if not all, of the work was individual. With no central authority.

She was naturally curious as to what position she would be given here, as she had no understanding of the lower C-Ward floors. This question was quickly answered. She was a mortician of sorts. She was tasked with dissecting and cataloging the bodies of the animals that the scouts had gathered form the jungle. This was a grisly job, and one she would have gladly turned up her nose at, if she'd had any choice.


	2. Chapter 2

After the first several weeks she was quite acclimated to her new position in the C-Ward. But as her job was akin to that of a mortician, she, with her nature towards the creatures, found it detestable. She was assured by the scouts that all of the animals brought in had died of natural causes. After she found several bullet holes in their hides, she began to doubt the words of the men.

In truth, she rather doubted the accuracy of anything her new co-workers said to her. They seemed different from her old friends up in the H-Ward. Even her boss, who saved her from that dark oblivion, she felt she could not entirely trust. They isolated the smaller, weaker links in the group, and slowly removed them. Not unlike the animals on which they studied.

This once presented itself on a scouting mission which she had the good, or bad, luck to attend. After a quarter-mile trek through the jungle in search of of bodies that the scavengers had not picked clean to the bone, one of the younger men, a novice, tripped over a molded and rotting log. Paul, and the rest of the team, walked on. She stopped to poor man up. She offered her hand, and pulled him free. He thanked her, and as she dusted some of the muck away, she could not help but notice the daggers glared at her by paul at the front of the rigid, single-file line. During this quest only one body was discovered. And even this was encompassed by flies and other pests, with torn flesh hanging from broken bones.

"Alive, I want it alive. Do you understand me?" threatened Paul "If you screw this up, I'll skin you alive and feed the both of you to him. This is the first live specimen we've had in eight months."

Paul often made empty threats to the scouting officers. But the subject of these threats was now what most of the labmen were interested in. she could not honestly say she understood. Surely they knew of the danger of capturing one of these creatures alive. It might be sedated, sure. But these animals were unpredictable, there was no way to be sure how long a sedative would last. She had no more time to think of these things, for an ungodly noise echoed from the black chamber.

"Unless you all intend to die before your time, I suggest you muzzle him. He's calling for help." Paul said darkly.  
This warning was enough to make all of the officers put new vigor into quieting the captor. After the noise was stopped and tension lowered, Paul gave an affirmative signal and a platform from the black floor was lowered. And when it was raised again on it stood a caged raptor. All of the labmen stood watching the screen linked to the chamber in silent awe. This was truly rare. But none of them quite had the reaction that she did.  
All of her previous experiences with these animals had been as a mortician. They could never move. Anything she said or did could never glean a reaction from them. The fear and thrill of being in close proximity with a born killer was absent. All of the claws and spikes they had could never be used again, and would slowly dull and rot. But here! This was different. An animated and moving animal who would have a spontaneous reaction to anything that she were to do.

He looked different, too. He was a dusty red, with a pale, almost white underbelly. And dark rings around his eyes that gave him a fierce look. The characteristic toe-claws that she had often noticed looked even more deadly on a living animal. In fact, there was not one part of his body that did not look morbid. It was covered in blood. Paul had apparently caught him in the middle of his meal. She imagined this was more than a little unnerving for the poor scouting men. She chuckled a little at the thought, and received a few glances from the men. This was a sobering time, not one for laughter.

It was not so bad at first. They played recordings for him, sounds from the jungle. Most of his responses to these were mere tilts of the head, to indicate confusion. He heard the sounds, but the sights and smells that normally were their companions were missing. Only blackness, and if not that then harsh unnatural light. There was one sound, however, to which the raptor made a more noticeable reaction. A call, similar to the deep bellow he made upon his arrival. He uttered a response call, alike but in a different tone. Among all the men giving exited exclamations stood The Mortician, who had a different reaction entirely. One of sadness and compassion. She felt she could detect loneliness in the call. He longed for his kind, it seemed to her. He wanted out, so did she. She had found a brush. It was time to start painting things red.


	3. Chapter 3

It was as she had feared, Paul became more malevolent as months went on. He and the labmen subjected the creature to all kinds of devilish experiments. Seeing how he would react to injury, how long it would take him to heal. They sedated him, and he awoke to stifling heat or chilling cold, seemingly at random. Keeping him alive was their only necessity. So they fed him, but sparingly. The raptor began to identify Paul and his team with pain, and started to lash out against them. He developed a tolerance for the drugs, and their effects diminished. He was becoming dangerous and uncontrollable. Paul ordered accommodating measures.  
All this time The Mortician had tried to distance herself from Paul, from everyone. They were all monsters to her. But this news she could not avoid. Paul had cut down the raptor's food. Once every two weeks now, to keep him weak. To keep him from attacking the men. And so, he slowly lost his will to fight them. He accepted the pain and experimentation. Any time that he was not needed. He would lay in the corner of the chamber. He knew he was trapped, and he gave up all hope of seeing anything but the blackness again. The Mortician wept for him even more now. He must wish to die. But they would not allow that, until he could provide no more useful information. This the Mortician could no longer tolerate.  
Under cover of night, the Mortician left her designated room and crept down the narrow hallways to the observation room. She unlocked the door and fumbled with the controls on the desk. She knew there would be cameras, she had to turn them off. She knew not how. She'd never even touched these controls before. Innumerable amounts of buttons and switches with no clear pattern. Directly below the viewer was a panel with a few flashing buttons. One had a small camera symbol on it. Could it really be that simple?  
"Burning the midnight oil, I see." said an unknown voice.  
The mortician nearly fell over in her chair at this. She turned and saw the voice's owner, an older man in a lab coat with dark hair. What was his name? Was it Mike? Yes, Mike.  
"What does this button do?" she asked, pointing to the flashing camera button. Just to be sure.  
"Oh, that," said he "that just turns off the viewer's cameras."  
He walked away now. Lost interest. She either thought he was drunk, or incredibly dim. Either way she'd got what she needed.  
After she'd checked the room multiple times to ensure that Mike had left, she moved to the main control panel. She knew what button to press here, she'd seen Paul use it hundreds of times. To open the door. With shaking hands, she pressed the button and walked through the door.  
Blackness, again. A fitting dwelling for one so emotionally dark as he. The place itself was oppressive to the soul. She thought she might amend that. She pressed another button, next to the door, and lights from the floor flickered on. She could not see him. She had half expected him to lunge at her as soon as the lights came on. He was sleeping, she guessed. She walked slowly to the only unlit corner of the room, the only place he could hide. She felt some sort of call would help to draw him out. So she attempted to replicate the one so often played for him. An answering call came, but it was weak and broken, uttered by a creature with shattered will. It was clear he would do her no harm.  
She ventured forward, concerned and terrified, all at the same time. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see his general shape. Still sleek and deadly, but off color. As if his long captivity had paled him. The red was lighter, the underbelly completely white. The dark circles around his eyes were now gray. He toe-claws were less beautiful to her in his present state.  
She slowly reached out to touch him, and he shrank away whimpering. This shocked her. Why should he be afraid of her? With all she knew of his predatory advancement she understood that he could kill her in less time than it would take her to utter a scream. Yet he was afraid of her. She tried again. He was backed against the wall and could not evade her hand. The scales on the majority of his body were smooth, like pebbles on the bed of a river. While the white underbelly had a texture similar to that of leather. All this she knew well form her work in the labs. But she noticed something else that had been absent previously. A warmth. The warmth of life. A sort of throbbing movement that was ever-present in live animals but gone completely in dead ones. She had never felt this in a raptor before. All her experience had been with the unmoving cold shells of the beasts. Even in his weakened condition he felt powerful to her. She could only imagine what he would be like if he were restored to his former state. She moved her hands gently, and he became more trusting. Soon he was leaning in to her stroking. She told him of her plans. Of how she would set him free. Normally she would have reproached herself for such childish and silly behavior, but somehow this was far more than a one-sided conversation between master and pet. He gave notable responses to her speech, turns of the head, small growls. In this way she knew she had found a companion, or more than a companion. A kindred spirit. In the form of this half-dead creature.  
As she left the chamber, she told him she would come again, but to never be awake in expectation of her. It would draw suspicion. He gave a growl of consent as she left.  
During her next visitation she brought him a small portion of food. Small, so as to increase his strength, but not so much as to be noticeable in the mornings when Paul and the labmen would examine him. While he gorged himself she patted his head, telling him there was more to come, and that he had been very strong to survive this long with so little. He murmured his approval at the compliment and at the food. More at the food, she guessed.


	4. Chapter 4

During the next few weeks, these visits became more frequent and regular. He would sleep for a time, and when she came she would tap him on his head to wake him. And they would spend the many hours in each-other's company. She was his only proper companion, and he her's.  
Paul had been given intelligence regarding a matter that had arisen in the chamber. A man was dead. He had taken measures to ensure the impossibility of this situation. And yet, he had been powerless to stop it. He entered the chamber, enraged, where the raptor was caged again.  
"How?" asked he, the coldness in his voice was plain. "How under your watch, could this happen?" No one quite knew precisely. The floor was covered in blood, that they knew. The body was not to be found. But it was obvious from the amount of blood that something fatal had occurred. They also knew that the raptor should not have had the energy required to commit murder.  
Paul stormed into the observation room, in an equal rage as before. He waited not a moment, before he asked the feared question. Who had been feeding the raptor without authorization?  
The room lay silent. No one was courageous enough to admit to such a thing, even if they had committed it. The death of a labman would have the department thinking to shut down the complex again. "Too many risks" they'd say. It had taken a laborious appeal from Paul to avert it the last time. And he was not willing to do so again.  
The Mortician had done he best to remove herself from all suspicion. But she could not entirely keep the fear from displaying on her face. She expected that most of the men showed fear as well, so she was safe among the majority.  
She did not scold him, She did not have the coldness of heart to do that. She told him that Paul was already asking far too many questions. She warned him of possible discovery. But In her heart she could not blame him for lashing out at his attackers as soon as he was able. She would have done the same. The more questions Paul asked, the more rushed their escape effort would have to be.  
She had the suspicion that Paul was watching her movements. Had she betrayed some information in her face? Were there unnoticed drops of blood on her clothes from when she'd fed him? She began to second-guess herself. She regularly surveyed her appearance, for signs of her nocturnal visitations to the chamber. She hardly ever found anything of consequence. But this continual paranoia was degrading.  
She met with him nightly now, giving him more food than was necessary before, as Paul had decreased his rations as punishment. The color slowly came back into his hide. He was now the same reddish-brown as when he had first arrived. The black around his eyes retuned, and his toe-claws were now as shiny and dark as before. She had been right, he was more powerful and beautiful in his fresh form. His movements were quicker and more fluid. He could devour a corpse in scarcely the time it took to kill. He was now the precise image of the swift killer she had predicted.  
One thing had not changed, however. Their attachment to each other was as strong, if not stronger, then ever.  
Paul doubled the guard during the midnight hours. The Mortician was informed of this development and knew this would require them to be even more careful during midnight meetings. It would not be long until someone discovered that the cameras were being deactivated. Paul began to stage interrogations, he would take one labman at a time into the chamber, and ask them a series of questions. The Mortician had not the slightest idea what these questions were, she only knew that most of the labmen left the chamber with expressions of terror on their pale faces.  
It was vital that the escape be made before it became her time to enter the chamber for questioning. She was unsure if she had the strength of will to survive Paul at his worst.  
The plan was not rushed quickly enough, however. And during the last days of these interrogations, she was called into the chamber to play her part as victim. After she was shoved none too gently out of the doorway and into the chamber, the lights flickered on. Paul indicated to the single chair in the center of the room, and she took it.  
"Bring it out." He said coldly. Upon hearing this this, a great many men began to push a large cage out of the darkness and into the harsh light. In it was the raptor, a little blood-spattered, probably from his fight with the guards trying to get him into the box. This gave her a bit of grim satisfaction, at least he had roughed them up a bit before they subdued him. His presence itself was unnerving to her, what had they done to him?  
"I assure you, It is perfectly well," said Paul. "It is far too important to kill."  
This reassured her some, at least they had not harmed him. She could not show relief or concern, or risk exposing her affections for him. "To what is it to me?" She asked, under an emotionless mask. He ignored her question.  
"You don't enjoy your employment here, do you? Asked he. "In fact, you despise the entire complex. It is evident in all of the work you do, and the behavior you have. You left the complex any chance you could get before, ran off into the jungle. You hate us. That is why you were transferred here, upon my request. This place has a way of removing the insolent tendencies from people. You have the best motives for an act such as this. So tell me, was it you?


	5. Chapter 5

The Mortician remained silent, unmoving. She was not about to expose herself and doom them both. No matter what tactics Paul used to get information from her.

Paul slipped into a rage again. "Tell me!" He screamed. "You are my final suspect. It must be you." He struck her, hard. Blood dripped from her lip, and she wanted desperately to cry out, but for her raptor's sake she controlled herself. She could not risk showing pain or weakness, least she give Paul satisfaction. The raptor did not control himself as well, and he roared in anguish for her. And he growled at Paul in furious anger.

"He _likes_ you." Paul whispered in mocking tones.

Now she knew all deception and secrecy was lost. Still she remained motionless, staring at him with all the fortitude she could muster. He was quite right. She did hate him.

"Lock her up," Paul ordered. "It was her."

She spent the few remaining hours of the day contemplating the fate of her beloved carnivore. Without his love and protector, she was sure Paul and the labmen would torture him endlessly. And she was also certain Paul had placed security measures around him. Even if she could somehow manage to escape, she would not be able to reach him.

In utter and complete despair she flopped down on the pitiful cot that was the only furniture in the tiny room she was held in. And then wept, until she could weep no further. She sat for an immeasurable amount of time. Her beloved would be tortured, and she imprisoned, and unable to see him even once again. She thought of dismantling the cot and using the pieces as weaponry against the next man to come within her sight. She pulled against the metal rusted legs, and preyed at the screws with her nails until they chipped and bled. But the cot could not be taken apart.

She heard the foreboding sound of footsteps outside the heavy metal door. It was Paul, come to recall the tale of his latest misdeed against the raptor, while she was locked away. It was only to hurt her, to make her feel even more powerless. But it wouldn't matter. She would attack him as soon as he cracked open the door. She would be even more savagely punished if she did so, but that wouldn't matter either. There was nothing more for her to lose.

The footsteps stalled at the door, and she could see the shadow of a man through the crack between the door and the hard concrete floor. Paul was toying with her, he expected her to attack him, and would capture her again as soon as she did. The man fumbled with something as he stood by the door, and a slip of paper was pushed under the door. She rushed to the door as the figure fled, and realized it was not Paul at all.

As she unfolded the paper a key fell from it and clattered to the floor. And she read the note.

_Don't forget to turn off the cameras._

_-M_

She smiled a little. Mike was clever. He'd been of completely sound mind when he'd pointed out the camera power button to her. He believed in her and what she was doing. And in what she was about to do. As she turned the key in the lock and listened for the small click, she remarked to herself how she'd misjudged Mike. Perhaps she and more friends here than she thought.

She peeked through the door as she opened it and out into the dark hallway. Had Paul positioned men outside? No, she guessed. After all, this was an unexpected occurrence. Even he had not foreseen her escape.

She crept down the hallway, cursing her clacking white boots. They were maddeningly uncomfortable as well as noisy. She had also decorated her fingernails a dark red. She might as well look nice for her interrogation, she had thought. But looks did not serve her well now.

She moved as quietly as possible down the narrow hallways that led to the chamber, and taking Mike's advice, she clipped the wires leading to the cameras. As she neared the door to enter the black room, she caught herself.

She suspected an attack, as no men were found in any of the hallways. Paul was not so stupid, he'd either placed guards inside to keep her out, or her beloved in.

Preparing for an ambush, she opened the strong door, but none came, and the door closed behind her.

Her beloved ran to her, his toe-claws making even more clacking than her boots as she ran to him in turn. Each had given up seeing the other again. As she stroked his dusty-red head and neck lovingly, a voice rang out in the chamber, a voice with no owner.


End file.
